Damned, Damned Be The Rich! May Not

The Important Thing In Life Is To Let The Years Carry Us Along.

Green How I Want You Green. Green Wind. Green Branches.

The Terrible, Cold, Cruel Part Is Wall Street. Rivers Of Gold Flow There From All Over The Earth, And Death Comes With It. There, As Nowhere Else, You Feel A Total Absence Of The Spirit: Herds Of Men Who Cannot Count Past Three, Herds More Who Cannot Get Past Six, Scorn For Pure Science And Demoniacal Respect For The Present. And The Terrible Thing Is That The Crowd That Fills The Street Believes That The World Will Always Be The Same And That It Is Their Duty To Keep That Huge Machine Running, Day And Night, Forever.

Never Let Me Lose The Marvel Of Your Statue-like Eyes, Or The Accent The Solitary Rose Of Your Breath Places On My Cheek At Night. I Am Afraid Of Being, On This Shore, A Branchless Trunk, And What I Most Regret Is Having No Flower, Pulp, Or Clay For The Worm Of My Despair. If You Are My Hidden Treasure, If You Are My Cross, My Dampened Pain, If I Am A Dog, And You Alone My Master, Never Let Me Lose What I Have Gained, And Adorn The Branches Of Your River With Leaves Of My Estranged Autumn.

Every Step We Take On Earth Brings Us To A New World.